


Devil's Playground

by LadyFogg



Series: The Horror of Our Love [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Biting, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Grinding, Language, M/M, Murder, Murderers, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, unstable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-09 14:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFogg/pseuds/LadyFogg
Summary: Sequel to Sick Like Me. It’s been a year since you were brought back to life. But you don’t want to keep going without Jerome, and luckily you don’t have to. When he finally returns, you can’t wait to share the empire you’ve built. Except, Jerome doesn’t want to share anymore, and the struggle for control of Gotham begins.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, my initial plan was to have the whole fic written before posting, however I really wanted to share this first chapter. Now, just a warning, this fic won't be updated as frequently as the other one was. I'm in the middle of a lot of stuff right now. There won't be a regular schedule for posting but I will try not to delay too long. I'm also taking my time with this one. I had the idea while writing Sick Like Me and it's going to be a lot more in-depth. Enjoy!
> 
> Playlist - https://open.spotify.com/user/ladyfogg/playlist/0x0OivFsQrZhlMvBIZrqVq  
> Fic Song - https://open.spotify.com/track/3WdHywW5eesvHX9pj5z8eT

 

The sky is overcast, dark clouds rolling in from the west. Already you can hear thunder in the distance and it makes you smile. Tugging your red coat tighter around yourself, you tear your eyes from the sky to admire your surroundings. 

The broken carousel in front of you has seen better days. It's covered in rust, the paint faded in areas. Several of the horses lay on the ground, and one is even missing a head. You examine it over the top of your tinted sunglasses for some time, before pushing the frames back into place. Bright lights still bother your eyes, and you suspect they always will. One of the many side-effects of being brought back from the dead. However, they do make everything have a nice reddish tint, which you quite enjoy. 

Behind you, the sound of crunching leaves signals your liaison’s arrival and you pull your hood up to obscure your face. 

“Mrs. Jay, it's great to see you again,” the older man says once you turn to him.

“Harold, pleasure as always,” you smile. “I promise we'll keep this brief.”

Harold is bundled for winter, though you're barely a week into fall. His bulbous nose is running with snot, which he wipes away with his sleeve.

“It's no trouble, ma’am,” he says. “This place has been abandoned for so long, I'm just glad someone's actually interested in buying.”

“I am more than interested,” you say. “I would like to do a final walkthrough.”

“Of course!” Harold exclaims. “Shall we?”

He extends his hand toward the rest of the grounds, and you cast a final look at the headless horse before following. 

The circus has a ghostly air to it, the long abandoned rides and stands in need of massive repair. Harold explains the history, which is pointless, but you allow him to prattle on while you mull over the plans in your head. 

“It's outside of the city, although the location is perfect,” Harold says. “I know it's rundown. But with a little love--”

“I like it this way,” you interrupt, smiling at the ferris wheel. “It's got a specific aesthetic to it.”

Harold frowns. “I suppose so,” he says. After a moment's pause he adds, “What is it you say you do for a living?”

“I invest,” you say, wandering away.  

In your jumbled mind, hazy memories return, making you shut your eyes and twitch, unable to stop the onslaught. 

_ You’re younger. Your father drags you to the circus, stepmother wailing and pouting the whole way. You look around, wanting to find a way to escape, needing a way to be free...too many people, too many options...your father suggests going through the funhouse... _

“Mrs. Jay?” Harold asks tentatively and you drag your eyes open. 

Across the way, the funhouse sits quietly in the distance. “Sorry, Harold,” you say. “I have a lot of memories attached to this place.”

You find yourself moving toward the building, drawn to the entrance. One of the doors is laying on the ground, the clown face around the opening chipped and faded from harsh weather and neglect, just like everything else. The tracks leading in are rusty, but seem to be intact, and the cart sits at the dock, almost as if it's waiting for you specifically. The sense of deja vu is strong. 

“What do you invest in?” Harold asks, following for a spell until he comes to a stop by the cart.

“Many things,” you say. “Mostly people who I think have potential.”

“Then what do you want this old circus for?” Harold inquires, collapsing onto the seat. He swings his legs in and leans on the safety bar, watching you slowly walk up to the funhouse doors.

You don't answer right away, too busy reaching up to touch the clown’s cheek. Harold waits awkwardly, and you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your head.

“It’s as I said, I have a lot of memories attached to this place. Besides, everyone has to try new things eventually,” you tell him. “And this circus is just my style.”

“Well, I'm sure you can fetch a low price,” Harold says. “It's been on the market for years.”

“Oh, I did get a  _ steal  _ for this place,” you say, shoving your hands in your pockets and turning to smile at him. “I signed the papers this morning.”

Harold looks confused. “Then why did you ask to meet?” he asks. 

“To thank you for all your hard work,” you reply sweetly. “You've been an absolute  _ pleasure  _ to work with.”

Harold puffs out his chest slightly and beams as you take several steps forward, coming to a stop in front of the cart. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. Jay,” he says. “I'm glad we found what you were looking for.”

“As am I,” you say, extending your hand. “Your bosses thought I was crazy wanting to buy this place. They laughed themselves to  _ death _ when I told them what I planned to do.”

“They laughed at you? I apologize, that's unprofessional,” Harold says, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake. 

When he tries to pull away, you don't let go. Instead, you use your free hand to remove your sunglasses, tipping your face upward so he sees the jagged scar under your red hood. Harold’s eyes widen and he freezes, fear taking hold. 

“It's alright, I expected them to,” you say, finally letting him go. He gives a nervous, involuntary laugh, before clearing his throat.

You tuck the sunglasses into your pocket and carefully remove your gloves, revealing your purple-veined hands. 

“Please understand, Harold, I intend to keep this circus exactly how it is now: a broken death trap,” you continue, strolling back over to the funhouse doors. “You know, when I came here with my family, my father forced me and my stepmother to go through the funhouse together. I think he thought it would be a bonding experience. Or he needed a hit of whatever drug he was on that week and used it as an excuse to slip away. But, regardless, the ride proved to be a special one. It was the first time I saw her truly scared, and I realized I wanted her to look at me that way.”

Harold laughs nervously again, and you smirk. You kick the broken door off the track and open the second one. Several startled crows fly out, squawking angrily.

“I’ve heard people say that when they’ve wanted something for so long, and then get it, it’s never as good as they thought it would be. Killing my stepmother was so much more invigorating that I ever imagined. The highlight of my life...my first life anyways.”

The memories of stabbing her come again, clipped and black and white, almost like a TV channel with bad reception. You shrug them off. 

“I have wonderfully horrible plans for this place, and this city. Acquiring this circus is just the first step. See, Harold, by now you've recognized me. You know who I am. Which means you also know what I'm capable of. A lot of people caused not only my death, but the death of my puddin’. Once he wakes, he'll be gunning for vengeance. And I plan to give him just that. Well, and sex of course.”

You stare into the dark interior of the funhouse, imagining everything you'll need to accomplish to get it operational. After a moment, you turn and smile at Harold. His hand is still outstretched, frozen in place. The poison began working its magic the second it made contact with his skin, which has since turned gray and mummified. Harold’s eyes are still wide, and now his mouth is as well, drawn up in a painful, ghoulish grin as blood seeps through his pores, staining his lips. 

You stroll past the cart, tossing your gloves onto his lap. Moving around to stand behind it, you place your foot on the back of the rotted wood.

“Your services are no longer required, Harold,” you tell the dead man. “It's a shame you won't be around when I reopen. It's going to be  _ terrifyingly  _ amazing!”

You kick the cart as hard as you can and it lurches forward on the track. As you watch it enter the funhouse, you slip your sunglasses on once more and shove your hands into your pockets. 

“What do you think, Jerome? You like it?” you ask out loud.

The voice in your head cackles.  _ I love it, doll face. Now, can you bring me back from the dead? _

“Soon, calm your tits,” you scold.

Harold and the cart disappear completely into the darkness, and you turn on your heel, leaving both behind.

It's been a busy year. Strangely enough, you're busier now than when you were alive. Between managing the Maniax and rebuilding Dwight’s machine, you haven't had time to breathe.

Hehe, breathe.

Your car is waiting for you at the empty ticket booth and you climb into the backseat. “All set, Kertz,” you say. 

“Where to, my queen?” Kertz asks, pulling out of the parking space. 

“The city,” you order, making yourself comfortable. “I feel like a stroll.”

The driver nods without a word and you watch the abandoned circus slowly shrink behind you. 

You have to admit, you love being dead. No police looking for you, no expectations. Only complete adoration from your children and anything your heart desires. Well, almost anything. The money is dwindling as time goes on. While you have some invested, those accounts have long been seized by the city, once you were reported dead. You’ve been living off the ones you kept secret, but the cash won’t last forever. You took over The Merc, selling weapons, supplies and alibis to criminals throughout the city, but it doesn’t bring in much.

You may have to dip into Dwight’s machine’s funds. No matter, the Maniax will steal more for you, should you need it. 

The car pulls to a stop a street or two over from the GCPD and you adjust your hood before slipping on a fresh pair of non-lethal gloves. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you tell your driver. 

Gotham hasn’t changed much in a year, at least not on the surface. The seedy underbelly is very much teaming with new blood and rules, but for your own safety you tend to stay away. No use in revealing yourself without Jerome at your side. The last thing you want is for his resurrection to be interrupted. 

Ducking into an alley, you make yourself comfortable leaning against the wall, and then you wait. Sure enough, right on time. 

Lee looks as stunning as ever. You lost track of her when she left Gotham after Gordon was thrown in Arkham for some reason or other. But as soon as you heard she returned, you decided to keep an eye on her. There’s something different, and you can’t quite put your finger on it. You had heard all about her marriage, and her husband's death at the hands of Gordon.

She looks tired as she leaves the building and heads towards her car. A voice calls her name, and you watch curiously as Jim Gordon himself appears in the crowd. The look on Lee's face is easy to read; anger. Which is a drastic change from when she used to light up at the sight of him. There’s tension and resentment there, which piques your curiosity. 

Interesting. Very interesting. 

“Hands up, gimme your money!” a rough voice says behind you. 

Amused, you raise your eyebrow and turn to find the barrel of a gun pointed directly between your eyes. The would-be-assailant’s face is obscured by a black ski mask, but his eyes burn with intent. 

“I think not,” you say, crossing your arms. 

The man doesn’t like that, snarling as he cocks the gun, lowering it slightly so it points at your heart. “Listen, lady, I will shoot you in the fucking chest!” he snarls, jabbing the end of the gun against your front. “Give me your money!”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to shoot me,” you say, calmly removing your glasses. “It didn’t stick.”

Just like with Harold, the guy’s eyes widen and he stares in shock. “Y-You’re her? You’re that lady that ran around with that crazy red-headed guy!” he exclaims. “They said you were dead!”

You scoff. “‘That lady’?!” you repeat with indignation. “Is that all I’ve been reduced to around here? The chick who fucked Jerome? No, absolutely not!”

He doesn’t see you slide the blade out from your sleeve, nor does it see it when it skims past his neck. With a gasp, he drops the gun, hand immediately clutching his throat. Stumbling forward, he leans on you for support and you oblige. Curiously, you peel the mask off him to get a good look at his face. He’s not much older than you are, and as you watch him choke on his own blood, you realize you’re ridiculously bored. That rush really isn’t as intense as it used to be.

Taking a step back, you let the mugger drop to a heap on the ground, tossing his mask to the side. “If you’re going to commit a crime, make sure the person can see your face,” you tell him, amidst the gurgles of him choking on blood. “If there’s one thing I learned from my puddin’ it’s: what’s the point of committing a crime if no one knows you’re the one who did it.” 

The man is twitching now, and you give him a final nudge with your shoe, before strolling away. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey, friends. Things have been busy, and I've been slowly recovering from some health issues. But, I'm feeling better and have finished some commissions, so I had time to work on this chapter. Hope you like it!

 

The Narrows was never your first choice for a base of operations. You actively had avoided the area when you were alive, preferring the richer parts of the city. Now, you have no choice and, after some time, you came to realize you actually don’t mind.

It’s seedier, sleazier, and the perfect location to hide with all of its abandoned and condemned buildings. You ditch the car and order your driver to meet you at the workshop, deciding to walk to your destination. Hood up and head bent, you stroll through the busy streets, ignoring the catcalls of prostitutes and grifters hocking their stolen goods. If it were up to you, you’d be home right now, avoiding any chance of being caught. But Dwight had insisted you speak at today’s meeting, and with the Awakening right on the horizon, you know your presence is needed now more than ever. 

Aside from the few Maniax who witnessed your resurrection, the rest of your following has yet to see you alive. This was done intentionally; the fewer who know you’re up and kicking, the better. After all, you don’t want the cat out of the bag before everything is set for your comeback to the Gotham underbelly. 

So you’re a rumor, a whisper between cult members, giving you even more noteriary. Only the privileged few get to see the Queen. 

Your numbers grow every day, evident by the graffiti that’s been cropping up throughout the city. That isn’t even your doing, that’s purely your followers. Every time a new one emerges you get a strong sense of pride, and then glee as you realize Gordon and the rest of the GCPD has no idea. Your mole inside the police informs you that it’s business as usual, gladly exchanging the good news for a higher position among your ranks. 

The theater looms ahead and you quickly glance around, making sure no one is watching before you duck down the alley to use the other entrance. 

Dwight is already backstage, removing his hat and coat with that intense, wide-eyed stare he always seems to have. When he sees you, his face splits into a toothy grin. “Hello, Queenie,” he says with a slight bow. “I’m so glad you’re here. The others are going to lose their  _ minds _ .”

He starts giggling at his own phrasing, and you roll your eyes behind your sunglasses. Followers are great and all, and you do owe Dwight for bringing you back from the dead, but his humor gets tiresome after a while. You only like those jokes when Jerome makes them, purely because they tend to happen accidentally. Dwight seems to go out of his way to make his words sound clever or amusing. At least,  _ he  _ thinks they’re clever. 

“If they follow us then they didn’t have much of a mind to begin with, did they?” you say, taking the glasses off now that you’re in a dark room. 

Dwight giggles again, rubbing his hands together. “Okay, everyone should be gathered,” he says, checking his watch. “I’ll do my introduction and you—”

“Make a grand entrance, yeah I know,” you interrupt. “I think I can handle it.”

You’re being short with him, and Dwight notices, that creepy smile faltering slightly. “Are you okay?” he asks. “You sound...angry.”

You’re too twitchy and on-edge to put on your normal flirty routine with him. In truth, your mind is still reflecting on the interaction you witnessed between Lee and Gordon, the seeds of a plan beginning to take root. 

“Forgive me. I haven’t had sex in over a year and it’s really starting to bum me out,” you quip. “Just go make the fucking introduction. I want to get this over with. There’s shit to do.”

“Right! Of course!” Dwight says, excited. “Showtime!”

Between the folds of makeshift curtain, you watch him step out onto the stage, tracking his movements as he calmly slinks through the dark. It’s difficult to get a good view of the crowd from your position, but based on what you can see, you’re impressed at the size. You honestly didn’t think Dwight could gather this many of your followers together, but without you or Jerome you guess Dwight is a good knock-off. Despite the issues you have with him, he does well to practice what the Maniax preach. 

Dwight lights a single bulb on stage, and the crowd begins to clap and cheer. Your sensitive ears pick up the microphone feedback as he leans in to talk. “The people of this city are slaves,” he begins, all trace of nerves gone. “See, they get up every day, and go to work so they can pay their taxes, their mortgages...see, they believe what the papers tell them, they fear what the politicians feed them. See, they are mentally shackled and yet, they do  _ nothing _ .  _ About _ .  _ It! _ ”

As he speaks, you pull back from the curtain, keeping yourself from rushing out and taking over. You should be making the speeches, you should be riling up the crowd. Not yet. This is one instance you need his introduction. If you burst in there without any warning, you’ll look like a random crazy person. You need them to know it’s really you, and unfortunately, Dwight is the only way to make that happen at the moment. 

The crowd cheers, a chorus of hysterical laughter breaking up the clapping. It makes you smile, reveling in the praise. 

“But there were two people, who understood, people who spoke out, who stood up to the jailers, puppets. A man and woman, with no fear.”

He raises his hand, and the projector clicks on, Jerome’s face appearing on the curtain behind Dwight. 

_ “Hellllooo, Gotham City! We’re the Maniax and I’m Jerome, the shot caller of our little gang. Well one of them anyways. Say hello, Queenie.” _

_ “Hello there, lovelies…” _

It’s surreal to listen to hundreds of voices repeating the words you and your puddin’ are saying, the pure joy on their faces proving that they are truly dedicated to your vision. 

The projection cuts through the curtain, and yet you don’t mind the blinding pain from the light. Hearing Jerome’s voice over the crowd makes your heart ache. Muddled memories from the GCPD attack hit you full force, the screams from Essen still echoing louder than ever. You close your eyes, soaking up Jerome’s voice and wishing desperately that he was standing behind you with his hand in your pants, fingers stroking your aching flesh. The thought is enough for you to palm yourself through your jeans.  

Fuck you miss him so much. At night when you roll over and reach for his side of the bed, you’re always surprised to find it empty. Half the time you wake up expecting his head between your legs or his rough hands grabbing for your hips as you sleepily moan. You don’t dream anymore, haven’t since you were resurrected, but he’s always on your mind. 

Him and Lee. 

“And now, I have a very special surprise for all of you!” Dwight’s voice cuts through your musings and you open your eyes while squaring your shoulders, preparing to step into the spotlight. “Last year, something beautiful happened. You’ve all heard rumors that our Queen has returned, and I am honored to finally be able to say, they are true!”

People immediately start muttering, and Dwight has to raise his hand in order to get their attention again. “Now, I know some of you are skeptical. But I can assure you, our Queen is alive. And...” he pauses to drag out the tension. “...she is here with us today.”

Dwight looks back in your direction, waving you forward. With a dramatic flourish that would make Jerome proud, you yank the curtains open, immediately causing a hush to fall through the crowd. 

Your boots echo through the room as you make your way downstage, hood still obscuring your face.The air is deadly still, as if your followers are holding their breath to see what happens next. Dwight graciously bows out of the way, offering you the mic. You step up to it, pausing to look around the room. The crowd is larger than you realized and they’re all staring at you with wide eyes. You take in the white painted faces and red smiles, feeling your own mouth twitch up into a grin. 

Without a word, you reach up with both hands and push your hood off, allowing them to see your face and preparing for their reactions. You know you look different than your previous life; the jagged scar and purple veins can be off-putting at first glance. As expected, most of the crowd gasps, several people scream, and one person even faints. The rest look on in silent wonderment. 

“Hello there, lovelies,” you repeat. “Did you miss me?”

If there was doubt to your identity, it’s immediately put to rest by your recognizably distinct voice. The applause is thunderous,  deafening compared to Dwight’s, and certainly louder than you’re comfortable with. Even still, their excitement is infectious and you feel your melancholy retreat for a time, basking in their admiration. 

You raise your hands, and they immediately fall silent. 

“What Dwight said is true,” you continue. “I have returned.” More applause. You let them go for a time before silencing them with a hand once again. “These sheep, these  _ cogs _ , they have no idea what freedom is, what it tastes like. I do. And I can tell you all do too. But we’re only the beginning. Jerome and I are a pair. There is no me without him, and before we can take this city, before we can make it  _ ours,  _ I need him by my side. And mark my words…” You lean in close to the mic, smirking. “He  _ will  _ return. Very,  _ very  _ soon.”

Your followers go nuts, screaming and cheering. Dwight stands by your side in his excitement, and you reluctantly let him. He laughs wildly along with everyone else, but before you can stop them and continue speaking, you catch movement at the back of the theater. Quick as a flash, you flip your hood up and back away from the mic. “We have company,” you whisper to Dwight.

His laughter instantly dies and he looks around. A second later, you hear a familiar voice shout, “GCPD!”

Dwight immediately grabs you by the shoulders and spins you away from commotion, shielding you with his body as your cult scatters. His quick thinking provides enough cover for the two of you to make your escape, while Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock try to make sense of the scattering crowd. Ducking through the curtains, you dodge around crates and fabric as you make a beeline for the back exit. 

The sunlight burns your eyes when you burst through the door, but you ignore it in favor of running. Dwight is right on your heels, keeping up surprisingly well. You don’t think the police saw you, because you’re sure Gordon would have shouted your name if he had. However, you don’t want to stick around to find out.  __

You and Dwight don’t stop running until you’re a ways away from the theater. Only then do you duck into an abandoned building to catch your breath. Resting against the dirty wall, you shut your sore eyes and clench your jaw, practically willing your heart rate to slow. The rush of blood through your body hurts, irritating the already sensitive veins. 

On the other side of the doorway. Dwight peeks out the dirty window. “I think we’re safe,” he declares.

Growling angrily, you seize him by the throat and slam him against the wall. “What the FUCK were Gordon and Bullock doing there?!” you demand, squeezing just enough to make it difficult for him to breathe.

“They...must have followed...me after work...” Dwight grounds out, struggling in your grip. 

You pull him away from the wall, only to slam him against it harder. “And  _ when  _ were you going to tell me you spoke to them?! HUH?!”

“A-After...the...show,” Winded, Dwight’s face is red now and he struggles harder in your grasp. “My Queen...please.”

Thinking only of Jerome, you reluctantly let Dwight go. With a deep cough, he drops onto the floor, massaging his throat. Adrenaline surges through your body, along with it the impulse to beat something to death. “You better fucking explain yourself,” you threaten.

“Our latest test subject escaped it seems,” Dwight croaks after several long moments. He pushes himself back up to stand, swaying and stumbling as he does. “They came to question me about the body.”

Anger floods your senses and you throw a punch, only to hit the wall next to Dwight. The old, cheap plaster cracks and your hand sears with pain, but you ignore both. “Do you have any idea what this almost cost us?!” you bellow, grabbing Dwight’s chin to make him look at you, bloody knuckles glistening in the little splashes of sunlight shining through the window. “Go to the lab, make sure nothing else is amiss and triple security,  _ do I make myself clear?!” _

Dwight nods, blinking rapidly as he tries to avoid breaking your intense gaze. “Yes, my Queen,” he blurts out. “Right away.”

As he goes to leave, you grab the front of his shirt, forcing him to pause. “And make sure you’re not followed this time, jackass!” you snap.

Dwight nods again and takes a quick look out the door before heading in the direction of your hideout. Shutting your eyes, you inhale sharply and exhale slowly, reining your anger, which is a lot more difficult to do nowadays. When the drum of your heartbeat finally slows, you relax your shoulders and open your eyes once more. Calm, for the moment at least, you fumble for your sunglasses, slipping them on and rolling your neck from side-to-side to release the remaining tension from your body. 

It’s nearly an hour before you feel comfortable enough leave, paranoid that somehow Gordon and Bullock are still wandering around. Thankfully they are not, and you make a mental note to call your contact at the GCPD for a status report. Still, you take the long way to your headquarters, doubling back a few times just in case. 

When you arrive, you see security has already been expanded. They pay you no mind as you enter, only nod respectfully. The workshop is buzzing as you stroll through the door.

“Dwight, tell me you have good news,” you order, removing your coat and tossing it to a nearby minion, who barely manages to catch it. Another sees you've arrived and hurries to prepare your drink, per usual. 

Dwight pops out from behind the machine, goggles over his eyes and dust smeared across his face. “Yes, my queen!” he exclaims. “I  _ do  _ have good news.”

Smiling, you head in his direction, casting a wink at Jerome’s cryo tube as you pass. A rum and coke is held out for you, and you swipe it from the minion, coming to a stop by your number two.

“That's what I like to hear,” you say. “Especially after the shitshow that just went down.”

“No more test subjects have escaped,” Dwight assures you. “But the last test did prove something useful. The upgrades I added are working and she looked completely normal. Before she died again, of course.”

This  _ is _ good news. “Where are we, timewise?” you ask.

“Close! Very close!” Dwight is excited, twitching as he pushes his goggles up onto his forehead. “The wiring is fixed after our last attempt, and some of the fuses had to be switched out. They’re all set now.”

“What's left?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink. 

“We need a more efficient power source,” Dwight says. “This way we’ll avoid the blown fuses.”

“Explain,” you order sharply.

“Remember, I had to make changes so it won't do to him what it did to you?” Dwight reminds you. “You said you didn't want—”

“Almost every vein on his body permanently purple so he looks covered in bruises?” you supply.

Dwight flinches. “Yes, that.”

“Relax, I'm over my appearance,” you say, taking another sip. “I meant, explain how big of a power source you’ll need?”

“Oh, the bigger the better,” Dwight says. “I actually have an idea about that. The power plant across the river. It’s perfect.”

“That's going to require us to move all of this there and reassemble it,” you say. “It would also mean we have to transport Jerome. I'm not comfortable with any of that.”

Dwight rushes to your side, wide eyes looking pleadingly into yours. “I understand, but it's the only power source that's significant enough for our needs. If we can find a way to safely transport everything, I  _ know  _ it'll work!”

For the second time that day, your instincts are screaming ‘no’, yet your desire to resurrect Jerome forces you to consider Dwight’s suggestion. If there is a guaranteed chance Jerome will come back exactly as he was, you have to take it. Of course, you need to be smart about this. 

Looking at Dwight, you raise a threatening finger. “If he thaws even a little before we're ready—”

“The cryo tube will hold,” Dwight insists. “We could use a refrigeration truck, like I did when I stole you both. Would that work?”

You tap your fingers against the drink in your hand, pondering his suggestion. “It would,” you say. “And I think I know how we can make that happen.”

Dwight looks excited and turns to admire his machine, but your eyes stray to Jerome. His neck had been sewn closed before he was frozen; it was the only scar on his otherwise flawless features. You’ll kill Gordon for murdering you, and then you’ll kill that damn butler for murdering Jerome. Your wonderfully, twisted Jerome. Thoughts trail to your first meeting nearly two years ago, the rec room of Arkham blurry, and yet Jerome’s face is clear as day. 

_ What’cha thinking about, gorgeous? _

Smiling to yourself, you mutter, “Murder.” It takes you a second to realize Dwight is talking, his voice drowning out the memory of Jerome’s.

Shaking your head slightly, you round on Dwight, “What are you babbling about?” you ask.

“I said, did everything go according to plan today?” he asks. “Before the theater, that is. With the errands you were running.”

“Oh, yeah that's all set,” you answer. 

“If you want to share your plan—”

“No,” you cut him off. “You know what you need to. Stop asking.”

Dwight puts his goggles back on, trying to hide his displeasure at being shut out yet again. “What’s next on the to-do list?” he asks, a little too cheerfully. 

After quickly downing the rest of your drink, you chuck the glass over your shoulder, where it smashes on the concrete floor. “Nothing you need to worry about,” you assure him. “Keep working on your machine.”

The only way you’ve survived this long is by being smart. In the past, someone like Dwight would be considered a liability and you would have turned on him the second you had the chance. Unfortunately, that’s not possible at this time. But when Jerome returns, when you finally have your man by your side, you won’t need anyone else. 

_ Can’t you see how special we are together yet? Between the two of us, we don’t need anyone else. We can take over this whole stupid city. Just you and me, sweet cheeks! _

You giggle to yourself as you say, “Hehe, sweet cheeks.”

Despite the aching loneliness you feel for Jerome, there is one bright spot in all this madness. For the last year, you finally were able to be on your own, something you’ve wanted your entire life. No father, no stepmother, no cops, no doctors...only you. Doing whatever the fuck you want. That freedom is something you will always savor, and you don’t intend to lose it anytime soon.

Speaking of, being around people for so long has worn you down, and you’re in need of escaping for a few hours. You motion to one of your children, who hurriedly brings your coat over. 

As they help you into it, Dwight removes his goggles again. “You’re leaving already? You just got here,” he says, whining slightly and letting his shoulders slump. 

“I’m exhausted,” you say, pulling up your hood. “Not that it’s any of your business. Plus, I gotta see a woman about some trucks tomorrow, so I’m turning in early. It’s been a long day.”

“Oh...I kinda thought...well I had hoped…” Dwight’s stuttering now and you sigh with impatience.

“Spit it out!” 

Dwight jumps a little at the tone of your voice. “I was...hoping you would stay for a bit, take a look at the improvements I made. Then, maybe after we could...eat food...together…?” 

This again.

Awful memories of lusty men and their clumsy, bruising hands break through your surface thoughts and you violently shake them away, not wanting to relive  _ that  _ particular part of your past life. It was in your repertoire for too long, it had become second nature. However, having sex for information or power is far behind you, gone the second you took Jerome into your bed. Not that you need to do such things anymore. Having followers in such high positions of power definitely helps. 

Despite this, for some reason Dwight seems to think he’s the exception. He is very wrong. In the year since your death, you never once considered trading sexual favors for loyalty. The very notion of it is enough to make your rum and coke churn inside you. Dwight’s devotion is unwavering already, any flirting or leading on is purely meant to keep it that way. 

You put on an unapologetically sweet smile, stepping into Dwight’s space. “Dwight, honey, do you remember what I said last time this came up?” you ask.

Dwight gives you a large smile, as he always does whenever you say his name in such a tone. “That we're  _ friends _ ,” he practically gushes. “And only really special friends get to fu…” He stops himself from saying something lewd, “...spend more time with you.”

“Yes, I did say that. But more importantly, you're my  _ partner _ ,” you say, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “Dwight, you’re the only  _ true  _ friend I have right now. And getting romantically involved with a friend or partner can get...messy.”

Dwight nods along with your words, enraptured by them for a moment. Until you see the wheels turning his his head and he frowns, “But, you and Jerome—”

“ _ You're  _ not Jerome!” you snap, digging your nails into his cheeks and tugging him forward so you're face-to-face. Too many copycats have tired emulating your lost love, and each one of them had been dealt with swiftly. “You never will be. You know very well what I do to people who try to be him. There can only be one Jerome. And I will only ever be his.” 

Dwight clenches his jaw against the pain, eyes darting between each of yours as he struggles to keep eye contact. He’s the epitome of someone trying not to show how scared they truly are, his quick pulse and trembling body betraying him. The few other people in the room have stopped working, watching the spectacle with bated breath. Feeling the tension in the room, you let Dwight go, smoothing the nail marks in his skin with a soft swipe of your thumb. 

“I’m sorry for snapping. You know I can’t control my anger anymore,” you apologize, blinking innocently at him. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“No, no, I could never be,” Dwight urges, reaching for you. He seems to think better of it and lets his hands to drop to his sides. Regardless, he chances a step closer, nearly nose-to-nose with you. “I understand, Queenie. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. Please don’t be upset.”

How precious. 

You give him a small smile and take a deep breath as if you’re calming yourself down. “I'll see you tomorrow,” you say. “Just, please get the machine ready so we can finally achieve our goal. Can you do that for me, Dwight?”

Dwight leans into the hand still cupping his face, closing his eyes briefly as he savors the moment. You let him, knowing it’s one of the few ways you have leverage in this partnership. “Yes, my queen,” he sighs with longing. 

When he opens his eyes again, you lean in as if to kiss him, dropping your hand and pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek, “Goodnight, Dwight,” you say in the softest voice you can muster. 

He breathes out a wistful,”Goodnight.” as he watches you walk out of his workshop. 

It’s not until you get into your car that you gag and shudder at having to be so close. The little seduction game you play is rough, if not utterly boring. Everything about Dwight turns you off and you’re going to have to watch old videos of Jerome in order to get rid of the feeling. The images of your sex tape comes to mind and your body tingles at the memory. You think you have a copy of it stashed away somewhere. You’ll have to dig it out. 

_ Aww, how cute. He has a little crush on you,  _ Jerome’s voice mocks, before taking on the dark tone you love so much.  _ Remember, Queenie: I’m the only one from now on. You’re mine and no one else can touch you. I’ll kill them if they try. _

“Only yours, Jerome,” you smirk. “Only yours.”

Echoes of his infectious laughter make you giggle as your driver speeds away. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. Oh man, this chapter. This is like, a year in the making. FYI the song Queenie sings is The Lion and The Wolf by Thrice and it’s on The Horror of Our Love playlist.

 

After your resurrection, you purchased a small apartment for yourself on the outskirts of the Narrows. The place is modest and the surrounding area is riddled with crime; keeping the rent low and your limited funds free for more important things.  The landlord is also largely absentee, making hiding out that much easier. 

Entering your place, your shoulders loosen and you idly crack your neck, the sounds of your ongoing experiments bubbling away, soothing you.  After locking the door, you hang your coat on the nearby hook and kick out of your boots. As fun as running a cult can be, you relish the moments you have to yourself. It was such a rarity when you were alive the first time that you can’t help but take full advantage. Stripping to nothing, you allow yourself a luxurious stretch while strolling over to your work station. 

Test tubes and beakers litter the surface, some filled and simmering over heat, while others sit off to the side, broken and empty. You turn the burners off, wafting the fumes and taking a deep inhale. Perfect. Just needs to cool before step two. 

The laughing drug worked wonders today, and you’re proud of yourself for finally figuring out the correct formula. It took way too long and too many lost test subjects to perfect. 

You turn on the TV, tossing the remote to the side as you move into the kitchen. The news is boring, the average robbery and murder doing nothing for you. Eventually a story about Dwight’s escaped test subject comes up, though the details are purposefully vague. You’re only half listening to the new commissioner’s press release when you collapse on the couch in front of the TV, a half-eaten container of ice cream balanced on your knee. Taking in the crowd, you recognize a sea of familiar faces, including your favorite detective. Gordon stands on the man’s right, looking as stoic as ever. 

“Oh Jimmy Boy,” you tut, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth. “Always the faithful lap dog.”

Bored with that news, you absentmindedly hit the remote, changing the channel. Unfortunately, it’s more news, this time about Cobblepot. You find yourself laughing, unable to contain it at the thought of fucking Oswald Cobblepot becoming  _ Mayor of Gotham _ . The world really does have a sick sense of humor. 

The long day has finally caught up to you, and exhaustion takes hold as you carelessly drop the empty ice cream container onto the floor. Absentmindedly, you yank a blanket off the back of the couch, wrap yourself in it, and lazily watch Cobblepot’s speech. Outside, the sounds of the Narrows makes for comforting background noise. For the first time in hours, you allow yourself time to rest. The sun is just starting to set, your eyelids growing heavy as the room darkens. Without looking, you fumble around for the remote, shut the TV off, and settle against the cushions. Quietly in the back of your mind, you hear Jerome’s voice begin to hum a tune. Smiling, with an arm thrown over your eyes, you hum along, eventually muttering the words out loud. 

_ “The lion's outside of your door, the wolf's in your bed. The lion's claws are sharpened for war, the wolf's teeth are red, _ ” you softly sing. 

Honestly, you don’t even remember where this song came from. It’s been in your head for months, though you can’t place when you first heard it. If you try to force yourself to recall, all that comes to mind is a muffled voice and darkness. Dwight tends to hum when he works, so it was probably from him. Regardless, it’s catchy. 

“ _ And what a monstrous sight he makes, mocking man's best friend. When both the wolf and lion crave, the same thing in the end. The lion's outside of your door, the wolf's in your bed.” _

It’s moments when you’re alone like this that you miss Jerome the most. Although he’s gone, you feel as if he’s still with you. Even now, you can feel his presence so strongly it’s like he’s standing right there, grinning at you with that wild smile of his. 

_ “The wolf, he howls, the lion does roar, the wolf lets him in. The lion runs in through the door, the real fun begins. As they both rush upon you and rip open your flesh, the lion eats his fill and then, the wolf cleans up the mess. The lion's outside of your door, the wolf's in your bed. The lion's outside of your door, the wolf's in your bed…” _

As the last words slip out, you succumb to sleep. What once used to bring peace now only brings darkness and silence. The worst part is how  _ aware  _ you are. It’s like your body sleeps but your mind stays functional. Not awake, yet not quite sleeping. And though no images come to mind, voices do. Not only Jerome’s, but the memories from that fateful night when you were shot in the chest. 

_ “Oh...didn't see that coming...” _

_ “ QUEENIE!” _

_ Gunshots. Screams.  _

_ “Huh, so that's what it's like…”  _

_ Silence. Darkness. That muffled voice and then... _

The next thing you know, your phone starts to ring, your alarm reminding you of the late hour. Startled by the sudden noise, you abruptly sit up with a gasp, hand over your heart where you can still feel the bullet piercing through. Your heart gallops, skipping out of time underneath your hand, another side effect from the bullet that tore through the muscle inside you. Shutting your eyes again, you shake your head, slamming your forehead with your fist in an attempt to beat the memory into submission. Only a scar remains, but everything else is still as fresh as ever, cropping up when you least expect it. 

Shaking off the panic, you breathe deeply, slowing the drunk stumbling of your heart, and open your eyes. The alarm still shrieks, too loud for your sensitive ears, and it takes you a few seconds of fumbling with the device until you manage to make it stop. 

_ 11:40pm. Date Night.  _

Head back in order, you toss the tangled blanket and hop off the couch, ready for what the evening has in store. After bathing and changing into fresh clothes, you pull on your red coat and head out the door. There aren’t many people on the streets; those who live in the Narrows know better than to be caught alone at night. You’re just about to your car when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. More alert now, you pull your hood to obscure your face under the guise of adjusting it. Instinct wants you to spin around, but you refrain, continuing your steady pace until you reach the vehicle parked in the lot. Only then do you glance over your shoulder, and immediately freeze. 

_ Jerome.  _

For a split second, you swear you see your dead lover standing across the street, face so pale he’s luminous. Heart tripping over itself inside your chest, you take a step in his direction, immediately needing to go to him. But then a tractor trailer drives by and when it finally passes, the image is gone. 

_ First you hear me, now you see me!  _

With a giddy laugh, you tremble excitedly as you climb into the driver’s seat. This is a great sign. You hadn’t seen his image in a long time, not since Dwight’s experiments had started paying off. You used to see Jerome on the regular. Sometimes it was just like a moment ago, others it was the reflection in a window, or a flash of red hair in a crowd. Seeing him now can only mean you’re close to bringing him back. Still grinning, you start the car and pull out of your parking space.  

You prefer Lee’s new place over her old one. Her mob connected late-husband definitely had money to burn, which now seems to have passed on to the good doctor. You park a street away, finishing your trek on foot to avoid suspicion. Behind her townhouse, several large trees tower over her small backyard. Swiftly, you climb your favorite one, going as high as you can until you find a thick branch that can hold your weight. 

Comfortable, you tug your coat tighter around yourself and wait. From this position, you have a great view directly into Lee’s bedroom. While you always like to keep tabs on what what your ex-therapist is up to, watching her at night had to do with protecting her more than anything else. After everything that went on with Gordon, you’d be damned if he took Lee from you too. No one is going to take her. And not just because she’s essential to your plan. 

Just like Jerome, Lee is yours. Was since she wandered into your orbit with those eyes and that hidden darkness that you would love to bring out. The challenge lies in having her let you, and you are more than up for it. 

The shades are drawn, but you can still see her silhouette as she moves about the room. You’ve kept your distance for some time, but tonight you’re particularly lonely and find yourself itching to see her. Face to face. These glances from a distance do not fill the burning need inside to be touched, after months of constant contact from Jerome waking up alone has left you touch-starved.  None of your follows dare touch you, not that you would let them anyways. 

You’re trying to readjust in the tree when movement catches your eye. The shades are lifted and Lee appears in the window, looking out into the night. It’s hard to see her expression from this distance, but even still, your body warms at the sight. After a moment of staring, she opens her window, letting in the cool night air before she disappears from view. The room is plunged into darkness and judging by the late hour, you assume she’s going to bed. 

Your body twitches with adrenaline, and you slowly begin to descend from the tree. Dropping into her yard, you crouch low and wait. The only movement is the rustling of branches in the wind, so you slowly creep forward until you’re on the ground a few feet under her window. It’s almost as if it’s calling to you, and after a quick assessment, you realize the back of the building is covered in thick ivy.

Looking around to make sure no one can see, you grab the vines and tug to test them. They’re strong and barely budge. Emboldened, you start to climb. It’s an achingly slow process, and as the minutes tick by, you pause every now and then to make sure you haven’t been discovered. However, the higher you climb, the more you realize either Lee doesn’t have security, or the security she does have doesn’t cover the backyard. Sloppy work on their part. 

Quiet as a mouse, you to slip into the room, taking great pains to make as little noise as possible. A large bed sits in the middle of the room and on it, Lee is fast asleep, curled on her side facing the window. Moonlight pushes through the clouds, illuminating your surroundings and showing a collection of used tissues on the floor, one still clutched in her hand . 

She’s so stunning it hurts to breathe. That fierce possessive side of you comes clawing to the surface and your blood begins to boil with anger. You’ll kill Gordon for making her cry herself to sleep. 

Before you can stop yourself, you crouch by the side of the bed, leaning in close for a better look. Her scent wafts your way and it slams into your senses, bringing you back to that night when you almost kissed her. Before Jerome interrupted. Lee twitches, making a soft noise that could almost be a whimper. You duck down low, just in case she suddenly wakes. But after a moment, it’s clear she’s still fast asleep. Judging by the tissues and the tension you’ve witnessed, you can only assume she’s having a nightmare.

The house creaks and you whip your head around, thinking it’s footsteps but hearing nothing else. The logical part of your brain kicks in and you remind yourself that being there is too risky. You need to leave before she wakes, or you do something stupid. Either one is possible at the moment. 

With a final longing glance at Lee, you slowly start to crawl towards the window, when suddenly you hear a breathless, “Queenie.”

You freeze, turning your head to look back over your shoulder. You’re expecting to see Lee sitting up, possibly with a gun in her hand. Which would be pretty hot if you’re being honest with yourself. You’re not anticipating her still being asleep, and once the confusion disappears, you realize with an excited jolt, that she’s dreaming about you. Now, it could still be a nightmare, but considering how she said your name, you’re willing to bet that it’s not. Crawling back to the bed, you pull yourself up until you’re eye-level with her, so close her warm breath tickles your lips. 

“I’m here, Lee,” you whisper. 

She doesn’t wake, only stirs a bit and sighs. Then silence before, another longing whimper. You’re torn. You want to stay, to crawl into bed with her and touch her until she’s awake and begging for you to do naughty things. However, you highly doubt that’s what’ll happen, and if you get caught now, all the work you’ve done over the last year would be for nothing. You do know, the longer you wait the higher your chances are of her finding you, so it’s with great reluctance that you force yourself to leave. 

“Until next time,” you sigh, unable to stop yourself from leaning forward. 

Her lips are dry, but just as soft as you always imagined them to be and you let your eyes flutter closed so you can pretend she’s kissing you back. Only...it’s not really necessary to pretend, because after a few seconds, she  _ is.  _ Lee sighs, opening her mouth for you and you forget yourself, cupping her cheek and slipping your tongue past those parted lips. It’s been too long since you’ve done this; your body doesn’t want to stop.

Jerome’s voice is shrieking in the back of your mind, yelling at you to leave. But you can’t. Especially not when Lee’s tongue tentatively strokes yours as she moans. Breathing becomes an issue, and it’s with a heavy heart that you finally withdraw, panting. 

Lee’s eyes flutter open, bleary and still cloudy with sleep. She searches your face for a moment, seemingly processing what’s going on before bolting upright. You remain crouched, smirking at her from under your hood as she studies your face. It’s almost as if she’s not sure she’s really awake, eyes never leaving yours. 

“...Queenie?” she asks, voice hoarse from sleep. 

“Hello, Lee,” you purr. “It’s been a while.”

Neither of you move, and you find yourself panting in anticipation. She hasn’t screamed, and she hasn’t lashed out, which is more than you could have ever hoped for. 

“I must be dreaming,” Lee mumbles. 

Never one to be too cautious when it comes to the people you want, you take a chance and leap onto the bed, straddling her warm body with your own. “Is it a good dream, Lee?” you ask, peering at her through your lashes. 

She sits stock still, and you see her reach for the light, only to change her mind and reach for you instead. Her palm is warm against your cheek and you hum with excitement, leaning into her touch. It’s been so very long…

You watch as her eyes dart from side-to-side, matching your intense gaze. For a brief moment the shadows on her face make the veins around her eyes stand out and almost seem bulging. 

But then she’s yanking you into a feverish kiss and you forget your name. 

It takes your brain a second to catch up to the fact that Lee is willingly kissing you, like really fucking kissing you. And once you do, any shred of hesitation immediately flies out the window. She’s pushing your jacket off your shoulders and you go with the motion, tossing the clothing carelessly to the side. Her nightgown is thin, and you can feel the heat of her breasts as you cup them through the fabric, squeezing and kneading excitedly.

Lee moans, melting under your touch and you decide right then and there you need to do everything in your power to have her make that noise again. Your tongue pushes past her lips, invading her mouth and stroking every crevice it can find. She opens up to you, her own hands falling to your hips before easing under your shirt, stroking your back. 

Her touch is electric, like Jerome’s used to be but in a very different way. He was confident, claiming, rough. Lee is hesitant, curious, and oh so soft. 

Speaking of Jerome, his voice is laughing in your mind now, urging you to do all the dirty things he would do. But for once, you shut him away, focusing your attention completely on the woman currently writhing underneath you. Her tongue finds yours and it’s your turn to moan, grinding down against her lap in the hope of getting some kind of friction. Unsurprisingly, she’s thorough in her exploration of your mouth, tongue flicking over teeth, stroking your cheek, and everything in between. 

You break the kiss gasping, only to find your shirt being shoved up. Unable to stop the grin on your face, you pull the garment off, baring your chest to Lee. She pauses, her fingers reaching out to touch the bullet scar, before tracing the purple veins surrounding it. Your heart is galloping under her fingertips, the skipping undoubtedly noticeable to Lee as she caresses your skin.

Before she can say anything, you’re tugging on her nightgown, exposing her shoulder enough for you to latch your mouth onto it. Lee gasps, clinging to you for a moment, before pushing you back. Panic takes hold and you think that she’s come to her senses, but she only yanks the offending nightgown off, leaving her completely naked. 

In the heat of the moment, you forget who you’re with and shove her onto her back. Lee lands against her pillows, eyes wide and long dark hair fanned out around her. “This isn’t…” she begins, but lets herself trail off, leaving the thought unfinished. 

“This isn’t what?” you prod, hands running up the swell of her hips, transfixed by the silkiness of her skin. 

Her chest is already heaving, breasts rising and falling tantalizing. Too eager to wait, you lean down, capturing one of her dark nipples between your lips. The nub stiffens almost immediately as you lap at it, hand cupping her supple flesh. 

“This is real,” Lee gasps softly, back arching off the bed. “Holy shit, this is real.”

“As real as you want it to be,” you coo, peppering kisses up her breast, lips grazing her collarbone before continuing up to her ear. “Do you want this to be real, Lee?”

Heat pools between your legs as she spreads her own for you, unsure hands coming to rest on your hips. With your breath in her ear, you slide your hand down her stomach, and under the cotton of her thin underwear. The fact that she’s already damp makes you smirk, before tracing the shell of her ear with the tip of your tongue. 

“Never answered my question,” you whisper. 

Lee’s breath catches in her throat and you pause your movements, preferring to press your forehead to hers so you’re all she sees. “ _ Do you want this to be real, Lee? _ ”

“Yes,” Lee answers, and dives in for a kiss, which you oh-so happily grant. 

You slide a single digit between her folds, moaning at the wetness as you spread it around in lazy circles. Lee’s hips twitch upward, and in your impatience you forget yourself, sliding your finger in almost all the way. You can hear the hitch in her throat as she makes a noise and you quickly retreat, petting her clit apologetically. 

This time you feel her moan against your lips as she relaxes into the mattress, fingers digging into your skin. 

Fuck. This is better than you could have ever imagined. Your own clit aches with desire, and you shift your leg over hers, allowing your full weight to put pressure exactly where you need it the most. Stroking the tantalizing flesh between her legs, you kiss your way to her neck, biting and nipping as much skin as you can, though not as hard as you normally would. 

Lee arches her head back, widening her legs and exposing more of her neck. Her nails are leaving marks as she slides one hand up your back. The other joins yours below, gripping your wrist as if to keep you in place. Seconds later, you realize that’s not what she’s doing. Her fingers find yours and she urges a second one inside, pressing hard. It makes your palm rest on her clit, and you follow through with the motion, stroking her insides while rubbing your palm against the sensitive nub.

“Queenie!” she gasps, grinding her hips. 

Between your legs, her warm thigh is maddening and you start to grind as well, unable to help yourself. A hand tangles in your hair and then you’re kissing Lee again as she comes surprisingly fast, moans muffled. Her hand falls limply from yours and you slowly draw your fingers out, giving her a few more soft rubs before stopping completely. Now that she’s good, you focus on yourself, feeling your orgasm hovering just out of reach. 

Somehow you manage to extract your hand from between Lee’s legs, pressing it into the mattress for leverage. Without warning, Lee grabs your ass and lifts her leg slightly as you grind down, just enough to push you over the edge. Stars explode before your eyes and you groan, riding out your pleasure even as it eventually ebbs. You can tell Lee is struggling to breathe with your weight on top of her, so you roll onto your side, bringing her with you. 

Lying face to face, you pant coming down, your lips still brushing. You expect Lee to say something, yet when her eyes flutter close, you know she won’t. She’s drained. Probably was emotionally before you showed up, and definitely physically drained now. You’re satisfied and warm, watching Lee slowly drift off to sleep, and though you know she’ll probably still think this was all a dream, you can’t help the smug satisfaction. 

Once she’s been asleep for a while, you untangle yourself from her embrace and slip out of bed, feeling more alive than you have in the last year. Finding your shirt and your coat takes some time, but eventually you located both and redress yourself. 

Well. That took a wonderfully pleasant turn. And as much as you want to shake Lee awake and keep going, you’ve pushed your luck enough today. As you cross the room on your way out, you cast one final look at your new lover. When you vowed to yourself you’d destroy Jim Gordon, you knew Lee would be essential to your plan. However, you never thought she would come willingly.

Hehe. Cum.  

“Until next time, Doc,” you giggle, and climb out the window. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**** Being dead has really put a strain on your formerly long list of contacts. When you needed something done, it was a phone call away. You’re now left with a book of disconnected numbers, it seems. Not to mention the high turnover rate among criminal empires tended to muddy alliances. Thankfully, months of keeping track of the Gotham underbelly provided a possible alternative. 

You slip into The Sirens through a backdoor, sunglasses in place and hood up. It’s early in the evening, too early for there to be any patrons, so you’re not surprised to find it empty. A beautiful blonde woman sits at the bar, long legs crossed and face pinched in concentration as she reviews the papers in her hands. 

“I don’t know who you are or how you got into my club, but we’re closed,” she says carelessly over her shoulder. 

“I can see that,” you say. “Which is why I’m here. I was hoping you could help me.”

The woman turns to give you a look, and cocks an eyebrow, eyeing you up and down. Barbara Kean is more stunning up close than you would have guessed, and she has a certain crazy about her that you find very attractive. Following her exploits had been a fun pastime for a while, especially when she kidnapped Jim Gordon and showed up wearing her wedding dress. 

Currently, she’s running The Sirens, and looking intrigued by your appearance. “You look familiar,” she says, slinking off the stool and placing the papers down on top of the bar. “Have we met?”

“Not officially,” you say. “But I’d like to change that.”

Barbara places her hands on her hips, taking a few steps towards you. “You and everyone else, sweetheart,” she smirks. “Care to elaborate?”

Having never interacted with her, you’re unsure of what angle to play. Her manipulations rival your own. Even now you can tell she’s trying to figure you out, trying to decide how to react to your sudden appearance. 

“I was hoping you’d help me,” you eventually say. 

Barbara rolls her eyes, interest lost as she backs up and hops back up onto her stool. “And why would I do that?” she asks, bored and impatient for this conversation to be over.

“I can help you get Jim Gordon.”

Tension fills the air at the mere mention of her ex's name. Barbara doesn't say anything, just gives you a hard stare as she leans back, her elbows resting on the bar. At first, you think she's sizing you up, but then you hear a sound behind you and suddenly your throat constricts. Instinctively to reach up, finding a leather whip wrapped tightly around your windpipe. 

“As if I need help getting back at my ex,” Barbara says, crossing her legs once more. 

From behind you, Tabitha Galavan steps into view, tugging on the whip so you’re practically slammed against her chest. “You’re either very smart or very stupid to come in here mouthing off about Gordon,” she says, holding you close. 

“I...can...be both,” you manage to choke. 

“Who are you?” Barbara demands. 

The whip is tightened and you can't help the flood of memories, thinking of Jerome's fingers cutting off your air supply as he pumps himself into you...

Forcing yourself to come back to the present, you choke out, “Let...me...breathe and I’ll...tell you…” You’re starting to feel a little lightheaded, and not in the fun way. 

Barbara and Tabitha share a look before the latter loosens the whip just enough for you to be able to take a deep breath. Gasping, you try to blink away the stars as Barbara takes a few steps forward until she's invading your personal space. Gingerly she removes your sunglasses, peeking under your hood. It takes her a moment, but finally, you see the recognition in her gaze and she backs up immediately. 

“It can’t be,” she mutters. 

“What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead!” Tabitha exclaims.  

“That’s very true, I am,” you admit. “And yet…” You shrug, hands still clutching the whip. “...very much alive.” You pause for a moment. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

"That it does," Barbara says, smirking. "Tell me, where's your little boyfriend? I thought you two were joined at the pelvis."

“Yeah well, he actually  _ is _ dead,” you tell her. “And I would very much like to get revenge on the man who shot him.”

“As if you could get close to Alfred Pennyworth,” Barbara scoffs. 

“See that’s where your help comes in.”

Tabitha tugs on the whip, bringing you slamming into her chest with a strangled noise. “Thanks but no thanks. Not interested,” she declares. Smiling at Barbara she adds, “What should we do with her?”

“You can do anything you want with me, hot stuff,” you purr. “But let’s put business before pleasure.”

Barbara gives a laugh, a mean, condescending laugh. “Look, Tabs! She thinks she's funny!” she teases. 

Tabitha chuckles, leaning in close so her lips brush your ear. “Wanna hear a joke, funny lady?” she asks. “Knock, knock...”

Suddenly everything goes dark.

You come to consciousness strapped to a chair, heading pounding unpleasantly. Stomach rolling with nausea, you clench your teeth to stop yourself from throwing up, ears ringing and vision blurred. You can't see you didn't see that coming, though you were sure they would shoot you, not hit you over the head. How are you supposed to go about your business with a concussion? Rude. 

“She didn’t even let me say ‘who’s there’,” you mumble, blinking in the dim light of the room. 

As your vision comes back into focus, you find yourself seated in front of a long wooden table, Mayor Cobblepot himself staring you down from the other end. The room is an elaborate dining room, complete with a roaring fireplace behind the king of Gotham. Off to the side, a number of guards stand in the shadows, keeping their eyes trained on you. 

There’s a beat of silence before Oswald’s sharp voice calls out, making you wince as your ears ring unpleasantly. “Who are you?!” 

“Ozzy, I'm wounded that you don't recognize an old friend,” you huff, slowly sitting up in your seat. Your wrists and ankles are bound to the chair, which doesn't leave you much room to adjust.

“I know who you look like,” Oswald snaps. “However, that person is dead.”

There's a click and you feel the tip of a pistol graze your temple. Victor Zsasz stands by your side, armed and smirking eerily. While you personally never met the man, you know of him through your father's old life. His name and reputation had been spoken of many a time in your household. 

“Now, I'll ask you again, and you'll do well not to make me repeat myself,” Oswald demanded. “Who are you?”

You say your full name, but Oswald still doesn't look convinced so you add, “I go by Queenie now, of course.”

“Queenie is dead,” Oswald snaps. “Shot by Jim Gordon.”

The phantom pain in your chest returns, irregular heartbeat more noticeable now that you’re thinking about it. You mentally shake away the memories, trying to focus on the situation at hand. 

“I got better,” you quip. “But, if you need more proof, I can tell you about the time you came to my penthouse after I asked you for information on my stepmother.”

Oswald studies you through squinted eyes, silent as he mulls over your words. There are a limited number of people who knew about that meeting, and besides the two of you, the others are dead. After several long seconds, Oswald gives a curt nod. Zsasz lowers his pistol with an audible sound of annoyance and takes a few steps back. 

“Can't be too careful,” Oswald says with a forced smile. “Next question, how are you alive?”

“Bullets didn't kill me,” you lie, leaning back in your seat. 

“Yes they did,” another voice pipes up. 

Eyebrow cocked with curiosity, you glance to the side in time to see a tall man with glasses enter the room. He doesn't spare you a backward glance as he moves to stand next to Oswald. "I saw the autopsy report, and your body," he continues. "And yet you're sitting there, alive."

It takes you a moment to register that you're speaking to Ed Nygma, the former co-worker of the wonderful Dr. Thompkins, and current advisor to the mayor. Although, judging by the way Oswald is eyeing him, you can bet he's advising him on more than just political matters. There's a closeness there that you're very curious about and file it in the back of your mind for later. 

“You saw my body? How naughty,” you smirk. “Maybe I can return the favor.”

“Pass,” Ed interjects without hesitation, hands behind his back. “A year ago you were dead, and now you’re not. Care to comment?”

Hmm, not messing around. The calmness in the room is making you uncomfortable, as well as the pacing of Zsasz. You try to ignore it and focus on the two men ahead of you. 

“It’s like I said, I got better,” you respond. 

“Really? Because you look like hell,” Oswald states. 

“Well fuck you too,” you say. 

That draws a laugh out of Oswald. “It is you!” he exclaims. “Welcome back, old friend. You do seem to have undergone a bit of a makeover. Are stripes in now?” 

"She seems to be showing signs of Lichtenberg scarring, though far more advanced than I have ever seen," Ed states. "Typically the purple color fades to red, but with her, it hasn't." He reaches into his pocket and draws out your sunglasses, placing them on the table. "Ms. Kean says you were wearing these when you approached her. Judging by the tinting, this leads me to believe your eyes are sensitive to light. Usually, both symptoms are seen in those who have been struck by lightning, meaning you must have come in contact with an extreme electrical current."

You don’t like this Nygma person. He’s too smart for you to manipulate, especially since he’s already aligned himself with Oswald. It makes you wonder what else he knows about you. 

“Nailed it,” you say. “Bolt of lightning. Struck my coffin and boom, came back to life. Like Frankenstein's monster.”

“Except, you weren’t put in a coffin,” Ed continues. “You were stolen from the autopsy room, whisked away by agents from Indian Hill, where they kept you in a secure holding facility for several months. Yet after it was shut down, your body was never recovered. Gone. Without a trace.”

“Cool, glad to know I was so lively even when dead,” you reply, bored. “Is this why you had Hotness and Extra Hotness kidnap me and bring me to you? To  _ study  _ me?”

“There’s nothing that happens in this city that I don’t know about,” Oswald cuts in. “I know all about your cult of freaks. Considering the mess you and Valeska made, I made it a point to keep an eye on them, especially when your body turned up missing. Imagine my surprise when rumors started circulating that you were alive. I had to see for myself.”

Biting back the anger that he knows so much, you force a smile. “Yup, I’m alive,” you say. “Surprise!”

“Why get caught now?” Ed asks. “If you’ve been around for as long as we think you have, you could have very well remained hidden. And yet, you waltz into a club run by known associates of Oswald’s.”

“True,” you admit. “But how else was I supposed to get close enough to the mayor to talk to him.”

A small smirk crosses Ed’s face and he tilts his head slightly. “You got caught on purpose.”

“Obviously,” you say. “Ozzy, you know me. Would I be here if I didn’t want to be?”

Oswald sits up in his seat, adjusting his suit jacket. “No, you wouldn’t,” he says. “Which can only mean you need a favor from me.”

“Maybe just a tiny one,” you smirk. “Just need to borrow a refrigeration truck for an evening.”

Ed glances at Oswald, who meets his gaze as he forces himself to his feet, strutting around the table toward where you are bound. “As I recall, Queenie, I did you a favor once before,” Ozzy says. “You never repaid your debt.”

You watch as Ed comes around the other side, both of them closing in on you in an uncomfortable advance. Zsasz is still pacing. This shift in power makes you antsy, but you keep calm under the scrutiny, trying to appear bored as you drum your fingers on the armrest. "I died," you remind Ozzy, giving him an eye roll. "Couldn't exactly pay you back, now could I?"

“And yet, you have the nerve to come in here, asking me for more? I see death hasn’t changed your boldness,” Oswald replies. 

“Look, I’m not an idiot Oswald,” you scoff. “You know that, I know that, and I can tell your Boy Toy here knows it too.”

Oswald’s cheeks turn a slight shade of pink and he avoids making eye contact with Ed, who is still keeping his intense gaze on you. 

“I will repay you for your kindness, of course,” you continue. “Name it.”

They seem taken aback by your willingness to go along with their plans, and it takes them a moment of exchanging silent looks before Ed speaks up. 

“We need you to find someone,” he says. “Our other contacts have tried and haven’t been able to get close. He’s elusive, a recluse. All you need is to find his address. We’ll take it from there.”

“Fine, whatever,” you say. “Easy enough.”

“Just like that? You don’t want to know why we need him?” Ed asks. 

“I don’t really care, Glasses,” you shrug. “I always repay my debts to Oswald, and I don’t intend to stop now. Whatever Ozzy needs, he gets.”

Oswald beams. “Excellent,” he says. “So we’re agreed. You find this person for us, and we’ll lend you the truck.”

“And we’re sure she can be trusted?” Ed questions quietly, so only you and Oswald can hear. 

“Queenie and I are old friends, Ed,” Oswald says, leaning against the table as Zsasz stops his pacing and comes up behind you. “She knows what happens to those who cross me. Besides, she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t desperate.”

“Observant as always, Ozzy,” you comment. 

Reassured that Oswald knows what he’s doing, Ed reaches into his pocket and draws out a cellphone. Carefully he tucks it into the inner pocket of your coat. “Burner phone, only we have the number,” he explains. “Keep it on you at all times so we can be in contact directly.”

“We’ll send you the details,” Oswald says. “Now, leave my home. I wish I could say I’m happy to see you, but we both know that’d be a lie.”

They don’t knock you out this time. Instead, a black bag is placed over your head and you’re roughly untied from the chair, only to be taken away. After what seems like hours of driving, you’re shoved out of the van, wheels still turning. 

Muttering curses under your breath, you yank the bag off and take in your surroundings. They’ve left you in a dirty alley, in the heart of the Narrows. The sun is just beginning to set and you pull your hood up, realizing too late that Ed never returned your sunglasses. Squinting against the setting sun, you make your way toward Dwight’s workshop, winding through the Narrows and doubling back in case Ozzy is having you followed. 

The whole meeting didn’t sit well with you. Despite the questioning, they didn’t seem all that surprised that you were brought back from the dead, or concerned. They also hadn’t asked about Jerome, which you were sure they would have. How much did they know before you showed up? More importantly,  _ how  _ did they hear those rumors of you?

You’re too deep in thought to pay Dwight any attention right away when you walk through the door. Asking questions about the person they need would have proved fruitless. Ozzy trusts you about as far as he can throw you, and there’s no way he’d reveal anything. Still, you’re curious as to why this person is so important to them. 

“Any luck on the transportation we discussed?” Dwight asks, coming to stand by your side as you survey the busy room. 

“It’s taken care of,” you assure him. 

Glancing over at Jerome’s cryotube, you stare at your lover. What you wouldn’t give to have him standing right in front of you. Being unable to touch him is driving you insane, and you only hope these damn hoops you have to jump through will pay off in the end. Because if Dwight can’t deliver and bring your puddin’ back, you will disembowel him. 

“Just make sure the machine can be safely moved.”

“Already taken care of,” Dwight assures you. “I’ve already had some of our…” Your gaze cuts to him sharply and he hastily backtracks. “... _ your  _ children deliver a few of the smaller pieces to the location. Our contacts there are already in place and are keeping an eye on things.”

“Well done,” you deem. “Do you have sunglasses around here?”

Dwight scrambles to dig through his pockets, eventually drawing out a pair. “They aren’t the red ones you like,” he hastily explains. “But they should still work.”

Tearing your eyes away from Jerome, you pluck the round frames from his outstretched hand. They’re a little small when you slip them on, but they will do the job. “There’s something else you and I need to discuss,” you tell him. “In private.”

Dwight pales but nods before waving his assistants away. It takes a few minutes for them to stop their work, but eventually, they filter out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. 

“Is something wrong, my queen?” Dwight asks, trying to keep the nervous tick from his voice. 

“Possibly,” you say, finally turning to give him your full attention. “How many people have you told of my return?”

“Only those at the meeting,” Dwight answers. “I know secrecy is of the utmost importance. I wouldn’t dare betray your trust.”

You actually believe him. Not because you feel he’s loyal. Mostly it’s because you’re sure he’s too scared of you to think of stabbing you in the back. Which means one of your other followers has been feeding information to Oswald. He knew too much to have figured it out all on his own. 

“Then I’m afraid we have a situation,” you tell Dwight, arms crossed. “One or possibly more of our followers has been compromised.”

“By the police?” Dwight asks. 

“No, higher up on the food chain,” you say. “I need you to find them. Smoke them out, and bring them to me directly. Think you can handle that?”

Dwight nods, jaw clenched. “I’ll find them!” he promises. “I will not let all the work we’ve done go to waste. No one betrays my queen!”

Smiling, you pat him on the cheek. “I knew I could count on you, Dwight,” you gush. “You’ve been there for me this whole time. I depend on you, you know that right?”

He swells with pride, puffing his chest out and squaring his shoulders. “I do.”

“Good,” you say. “I’m going to be gone for a couple of days as I procure the truck. You’re in charge in my absence. Think you can handle that?”

“Definitely!” Dwight assures you, trying to contain his excitement. “You can trust me, my queen. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” you say, dropping your hand until your fingers curl around his neck threateningly. “Because of you do, I will rip you to shreds with my bare hands.”

“U-Understood,” Dwight stutters. 

Confident things will stay on schedule, you leave the workshop, glad to see the city is as you like it, more shadows than sun. Your car is at home, and your driver is nowhere to be found, leaving few options. From inside your pocket, the burner phone buzzes.

With an impatient sigh, you pull out the device and check the message. All the text contains is a name:  _ Xander Wilde _ . 

That's it. Just the name. Nothing else. For fuck's sake he couldn't make this easy for you, could he? 

Deciding you need the air and time to plan your next move, you start to walk. There are still many pieces of the puzzle you need to put in place. Tracking down this person Ozzy needs is going to put a hitch in your timeline, one you can’t afford. You managed to get work started on the carnival, as well as some other plans that needed your attention. Hopefully tracking Xander Wilde down won’t be too difficult, though you’re not sure why Ozzy feels you can find this person when his other contacts haven’t. Especially when you have absolutely nothing to go on. Chances are he assumes you’ll use your various members to do the digging, which you normally would. 

Having dealt with Oswald in the past, you know it’s stupid to cross him, and you’d rather handle such a delicate situation yourself. 

At first, you don't realize where you're going until you find yourself on Lee's street hours later. It has been several days since your midnight encounter, though the memories of her kisses still track fire along your mind. Now that the truck is secured, things have been set in motion that cannot be undone. It’s time to bring Lee into the fold. Her downfall is essential to your plan to break Gordon, and with the Awakening only several days away, you need to keep moving forward. 

Her lights are off when you slip into her backyard, which you are not surprised about considering the late hour. It’s easier to climb the ivy this time, the open window calling just as it had before. You slip into the room, but by the time you realize her bed is empty, it’s too late. 

The light turns on and Lee is standing by the door, hand on the switch. For a brief moment, neither of you say anything, and your body is tense as you prepare to make a run for it if necessary. You had a feeling she'd be waiting up.  

Lee stares, before slowly lowering her hand and taking a few steps forward. “Queenie?” she asks in a soft voice, almost as if she doesn’t believe it. 

Smiling, you push off your hood and slip your sunglasses off, closing the distance between you as you bat your eyelashes at her. “Hi, Leslie,” you purr. “Did you miss me?”

She blinks, eyes wide as she takes in your appearance. Whether it’s a trick of the light, or of your probable concussion, you swear her eyes appear red for a moment before she cracks a smile and crosses the room.

"I knew it wasn't a dream," she declares and pulls you into a kiss. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I disappeared. For those of you who don’t follow my blog, long story short, I made some very big life changes in the last year. I’ve had a lot of ups and downs and am currently recovering from the darkest time of my life. But this story has always been waiting for me and I knew I wanted to keep working on it. I can’t promise frequent updates but I will finish it at some point.

 

Moaning, you kiss Lee back, molding your body along hers as your arms circle her waist.

It’s over far sooner than you would like, but your lips are tingling as she draws back. “They said you were dead,” she says, breathless. 

“I was,” you tell her. “I’m not anymore.”

“How is this possible?” Lee asks. 

“Great question,” you say. “But do you want to hear the answer or do you want my mouth on you again?”

Lee’s cheeks burn red and she seems to finally realize that magnitude of what she’s done. Clearing her throat, she takes a slight step back, forcing you to break contact. “Is Jerome--?”

“Still dead,” you answer before she can finish. “For now at least.”

Lee’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Smirking, you drag your thumb down her bottom lip. “All in good time, sweets.”

You let her pull away, watching carefully as she starts to pace. “This...this is insane,” she says, more to herself than to you. “First Mario...now you’re back…”

“Actually, I’ve been back for at least a year,” you say, strolling over to her bed and collapsing onto it. “So technically, first I come back and then your precious Mario is killed.” At Lee’s look, you add, “I’ve made it a point to keep up with current events.”

“So you know how Mario was killed?” Lee asks, voice tinged with bitter anger. 

“By the same man who killed me,” you say. “Our favorite GCPD detective, Jim Gordon.”

Lee clenches her jaw. “I  _ hate  _ him!” she lashes out. “After everything he put me through! After I lost our baby, and he just  _ let me go _ …” She’s talking so rapidly, you can tell she’s not really in control of what she’s saying. 

She’s kept this all bottled up for so long, and for some reason, she seems comfortable enough to spill her secrets to you. Which puts you on edge. 

“Speaking of your ex, when are the GCPD gonna swarm the house and snatch me up?” you ask, keeping your voice calm to counter her anxiety. 

“They aren’t,” Lee says. “I haven’t called them.”

“And why should I believe you?” It’s a legitimate question, one you think you have the answer to but need her to voice out loud. 

“Because I know you, Queenie,” Lee says, stopping her pacing and moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “And I’m not scared of you anymore. Haven’t been for a very long time. Besides, if you’ve been around as long as you say you have, you could have killed me already.”

“How do you know I haven’t tried?” you ask, leaning back on your hands in amusement. 

This Lee is so much more fun than the one you used to know. This one has anger and fire, and she let you do stuff to her knowing she wasn’t dreaming. Something has changed and though you’re curious as to what, you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Manipulating Lee into betraying Gordon is a fun plan, but seeing her so ready to do it on her own is practically arousing. 

“Because if you really wanted to kill me, you would have,” Lee says. “Not just in the last year. Before that. You had plenty of opportunities, and you even stopped Jerome from doing it. I think it’s safe to assume you’re as fixated on me as you were Jerome.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Is that so?” you grin. “Bravo, Doc. You’re really as smart as you look. Now, can I analyze you?”

You don’t give her a chance to answer as you rise to your feet, fixing her with a predatory gaze. “As much as you deny and hide it, I fascinate you. My memories may be a bit hazy, but I can clearly remember that little file you used to have on me. I got into your head and under your skin more than you ever let on,” you say, taking careful steps towards her. “I think part of you was envious of the freedom I have, the ability to see what I want and take it. The real question is Lee, what are you going to do now?”

You’re standing face to face again, and her eyes are searching yours. Carefully, she lifts her hand, placing it on your cheek. She warmer than you are, her fingertips tracing the purple veins as you lean into her touch. 

“Whatever you’re planning against Jim, I want in,” Lee says. “I want to make him pay for hurting me, for killing the man I love, for not even mourning our child with me...I want him miserable and alone.”

Chuckling, you hook your arm around her waist again, yanking her forward. “Consider it done,” you say, and then you kiss her. 

Her lips are clumsy at first and her teeth accidentally scrape your tongue. It feels like she's holding back. Like she's not sure if she wants to kiss you. 

Cupping the back of her head, you line your body along hers as you draw her in as close as you can. She molds to you, her arms sliding around your neck. 

Her kisses become firmer as her confidence grows. When you finally draw back, she lets out a slow exhale. 

“This is crazy,” Lee says, yet she doesn’t pull away this time. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“I am,” you say. “Also, we had sex. Something you said would never happen.”

“I knew you were going to bring that up.”

“Damn right,” you grin. “There was always this tension between us. Don’t you feel much better now that we did the deed.”

“I do feel...something,” Lee admits. “Not sure if I know exactly what that is.”

“Well, let’s see if we can make you feel it again, huh?” you ask, before shoving her against the dresser.

You drop to your knees, pushing Lee's nightgown up and out of the way. She's wearing red satin panties with black patterns on them.

“Mmm, did you wear those just for me?” you purr. 

“Maybe.”

Emboldened, you hook your fingers under the band and yank them down her smooth legs. Normally, you would take your time to play and admire, but you've wanted her for so long that you can't wait anymore. 

In two quick movements, you manage to throw her legs over your shoulders before you bury your face between her legs. 

She's soft against your mouth, already slick when your tongue drags between her lips. Lee moans, gripping the dresser for support. 

Tongue circling her clit, you dig your fingers into her thighs as you devour her, losing yourself in the taste of her. You can't control yourself anymore. Between being sexually frustrated and finally having Lee, you were starved for more.

She moaned, her hand coming to rest on your head. 

Already her thighs quiver around your head and, encouraged by her responses, you devour her. She is slick on your tongue, her hips rocking against your face in search of more friction. 

You lose track of time.

Nothing else matters other than bringing Lee as much pleasure as she can stand.

By the time she comes, your jaw aches and your knees hurt from the floor. But it's worth it to hear her voice crack as she moans.

Drawing back, you smirk up at her. “I was right,” you say. “You do sound beautiful when you moan.”

Lee is dazed. Her eyes are wide and glossy, following you as you rise to your feet. She leans in and you accept the kiss, tugging her against you.

Together you fall onto her bed with her laying on top of you. She pulls back slightly and you grin, tucking your hands behind your head. 

“What do you plan to do now?” you ask.

Lee considers your question before yanking her nightgown off completely. Before you can admire the view. She swoops down for a kiss, shoving your jacket off your shoulders.

Between kisses, you both fumble with your clothes until you're finally just as naked as she is. She pauses then, tracing the scars of your bullet wound with her fingertips. 

“I was actually sad when you died,” she comments. “I did find you as fascinating as you find me.”

“Glad to finally hear you admit it,” you say, sliding one arm around her waist as you yank her close. “Now touch me.”

She kisses you, tongue tentatively swiping at your lips. Gladly, you let her in as you feel her hand slide down your chest.

Her touch isn't as confident as yours is. At first, she gently strokes your slit, familiarizing herself with the feel of you. You've always loved things fast and rough, but this is Lee and you're more than willing to let her take her time.

It's been so long since you've been touched, you're more sensitive than you normally would be. Sinking into the mattress, you hum with approval as Lee kisses you deeply.

When she carefully presses down on your clit, you gasp against her mouth. “There you go, doll,” you coo. “That's the right spot.”

Lee presses harder, making slow circles and sending heat through your body. And more moisture between your legs. 

Fuck it's been  _ so long. _

You are desperate for more and you arch up into her. She gets the hint and slides two fingers into you. Not expecting the bold move, you chuckle with amusement.

“Getting cocky, doc?” 

Lee smirks. “Cock has nothing to do with this.”

You gasp in delight. “You made a joke! Hell really has frozen ovvvveeeoooooohhh…”

She chose then to move her fingers and your mind goes blank.

“Huh,” Lee says. “So there is a way to shut you up.”

You give her an amused smile before kissing her again.

Just like the other night, you don't last very long. She has you twitching and coming in only minutes. Your body breathes a sigh of relief as the waves of pleasure recede.

Eventually, you and Lee come to a rest, holding each other as you occasionally kiss. 

“What will Jerome think of this?” Lee asks as she lays tangled with you. “He can be quite the jealous type. I don’t like the idea of having to look over my shoulder once he’s back...or whatever.”

“Don’t you worry about him,” you say. “I can handle Jerome. Besides, I always had a free pass when it came to you.”

Lee makes a face. “Good to know,” she says. 

You glance at the clock on her nightstand and reluctantly push yourself up to sit. “It’s late, and we need our beauty sleep,” you say. “Big day ahead of us tomorrow. I’ll call you.”

“You’re not going to stay?” Lee asks. “It’s not like I’m expecting anyone. Besides, I don’t want to sleep alone. Not after…” She trails off, and you can see she’s thinking about her dead husband again by the way her eyes fill with sorrow. 

Damn it, you’re a sucker for those eyes. 

“That depends,” you purr, crawling over her. “Am I going to wake up to the GCPD task force pointing their guns at me?”

Lee rolls her eyes. “I forgot about your paranoia,” she mumbles. “No, Queenie, you won’t. Besides, how would I even begin to explain this to Bullock? Technically speaking, all I know is that you broke into my house. You didn’t threaten or attack me. Also, you’re supposed to be dead. They’ll think I’m going crazy.”

You grin, leaning down. “Maybe you are,” you mutter, lips brushing hers. 

“Maybe I am,” she agrees, pulling you down on top of her. 

The next morning comes quicker than you anticipate. For the first time in months, you didn’t dream of your death. In fact, it was the most restful sleep you’ve ever had. Next to you, Lee is already awake, laying on her stomach with her pillow tucked under her chin. 

“Morning,” she yawns. “Your phone has been buzzing like crazy.”

Grunting in annoyance, you lean over the edge of the bed, feeling around for your abandoned clothes until you find the cellphone Ozzy gave you. Sure enough, there is a slew of texts demanding an update on the status of your investigation. Remembering you need the refrigeration truck right away, you push yourself up to sit. 

“As fun as this has been, duty calls,” you tell Lee, stretching with a groan. 

“Should I bother asking what’s you’re up to?” she asks, sitting up as well, the comforter wrapped around her naked body. 

Remembering Lee’s job and contacts at the GCPD, you turn to face her. “Actually, you’re exactly the person who can help me,” you say. “I am looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“Xander Wilde. Ever heard of him?”

Lee ponders the name as you slide out of bed, dressing leisurely. The level of comfort between you two is spectacular. You love seeing Lee lose whatever control she had. Last night had been the most pleasurable night you’ve had since Jerome died. 

“The name sounds familiar,” she concludes as you’re yanking your shirt on over your head. “I can probably sneak a peek at the GCPD records and see what I can find. How soon do you need the information?”

“Today,” you tell her, pulling on your coat. “I’m on a tight schedule.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Lee says. “Do you have a phone or someway I can contact you?”

Aside from the burner Nygma gave you, you do have a phone you use to stay in contact with Dwight. You swipe Lee’s phone off the dresser and quickly enter your number into her contacts, under your real first name. 

“There,” you say, tossing it to her. “Feel free to send dirty pictures whenever you want.”

Lee rolls her eyes, though there is a slight smile playing across her lips. “In your dreams,” she scoffs, getting up herself, the bed sheet loosely wrapped around her body. 

“How did you know?” you tease. 

“Alright, alright, get out of here,” Lee assures you toward the bedroom door. “I can’t get that information for you if I don’t go to work. And I’m sure you have nefarious plans to execute.”

“You know me so well, Doc.”

Though you’re confident Lee can get the information, you need a backup plan just in case. After stopping by your apartment for a quick shower, you’re on the streets once again, checking in on various moles and contacts. Unfortunately, none of them seem to have ever heard of Xander Wilde, and as time drags on, you begin to get agitated. 

Finally, in the early afternoon, your personal phone buzzes. The number isn’t saved, but you assume it’s Lee. All it says is an address. 

You shove the phone in your pocket and start walking toward the outskirts of Gotham, in the direction the text indicated. You have a vague idea of where the address is, though you don’t remember there being any buildings in that area. 

By the time you reach the location, dusk has fallen. Your legs are tired and you’re sweating under your hood, so you take a chance and push it off. It’s not there’s anyone around. Nerves on edge, you keep your eyes peeled. You are very aware you could be walking into a trap, though you saw no sign of the GCPD when you first arrived. 

Suddenly, the ground gives away beneath you, and you are sent tumbling downward, landing on cold concrete. Disoriented and gasping in pain, you are able to glimpse at the darkening sky before the trap door snaps closed and you’re plunged into darkness. 

Immediately your thoughts shift to Lee, thinking of her betrayal. Until a male voice echoes around you, “Who are you?”

Not Lee. Not the GCPD. They wouldn’t trap you like this. Gordon wouldn’t miss an opportunity to try to arrest you, like the goody-two-shoes he is. This is something else. Someone else. 

Slowly getting to your feet, a red light comes on, illuminating the space around you. Not that there is much of it. You’re in a square, concrete cell, with a heavy iron door to your left. Instinctually, you flip your hood back up to obscure your face and as you glance around, you spot a camera in the corner of the ceiling. 

Giving it your full attention, you take a step forward. “Your new prisoner it seems,” you quip, keeping your voice calm, though you’re filled with anxiety. “Xander Wilde, I presume?”

There’s a beat of silence. “How do you know of me? What do you want?”

“To have a little chat,” you shrug, shoving your hands in your pockets, feeling around for your cellphones. They both seem intact at least. “Someone I know would like to request your services.”

Again, there’s silence. It drags on for several long seconds before, “Your voice sounds familiar. Take off your hood so I can see your face.”

You half turn away from the camera. “I have a better idea,” you say. “I don’t show myself to people who lock me in a cell...unless they’re really hot. So, how about you show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

Whoever this person is, you like them. If they are smart enough to take you by surprise, they deserve to meet you face to face. However, you’re not going to give yourself away before you see who’s captured you. 

There is no answer, and as seconds turn to minutes, you give a huff of annoyance and lean your back against the wall opposite the door. You don’t dare take your phone out with a camera watching, so you try to look as bored as possible while you hum.  _ “The lion's outside of your door, the wolf's in your bed...” _

The locks on your door are loud as they come undone and it forces you to stand up straight, reading yourself for whoever has captured you. Squeaking loudly, the door slowly opens to reveal a figure shrouded in shadow. They aren’t much taller than you, and when they speak, the voice has a familiarity to it that immediately puts you on guard. 

“Lower your hood,” the figure orders. 

Knowing the power has shifted, you scowl as you push your hood back, letting it slip off. You hear your captor inhale sharply. 

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

Deciding to play it coy, you give them a flirtatious smile. “Shhh, it’s a secret,” you say, pressing your finger to your lips. 

Your smile instantly fades as the person finally steps into the light, and you find yourself staring at the face of your lost love. 

“Jerome?!” you gasp in surprise and confusion. Throwing yourself at him, you wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips to his without a second thought. 

He stumbles and lets out a noise of surprise, hands grabbing for your arms as he tries to pry them off. Instantly, you know this isn’t Jerome. His lips feel different, he tastes different. Not like blood and sin but nothing. 

And, he’s not kissing you back. Using his surprise to your advantage, you yank away from the kiss and press your forearm to his throat, shoving him backward until he slams into the nearest wall. 

“You’re not Jerome!” you snarl, pinning him. “Who are you?! Why do you look like my puddin’?!”

“I’m Jeremiah,” he answers through a gasp for breath. “Jeremiah Valeska. I’m Jerome’s twin.”

  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

 

Confused doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel. 

His twin? Jerome has a twin?? And he never fucking told you?

Your instincts tell you it’s a trick, but as you stare at Jeremiah, you know that’s not possible. He’s the spitting image of Jerome, though his hair is carefully parted and combed, and round glasses balance on his nose. His looks are the only thing keeping you from attacking, unable to hurt someone who looks exactly like your dead lover. 

“He never told me he had a twin,” you say, lowering your arm but keeping your close proximity.  

Jeremiah straightens his nicely pressed suit before adjusting his tie and clearing his throat. “No, I suspect he wouldn’t,” he says. “I’m sure he liked to pretend I didn’t exist.” He eyes you up and down, almost calculatingly. “I saw the news last year. They said you died.” 

“They just said that to calm the panic,” you lie. “I take it you’re this ‘Xander Wilde’?”

“I couldn’t very well keep my birth name when I left the circus,” Jeremiah says. “I knew it was a matter of time before Jerome came looking for me. Where is he? What does he want with me? I assume that’s why you’re here.”

“Jerome’s dead,” you tell him. “I work for others now. They sent me to look for you. They would like to request your services.”

Jeremiah is still staring at you, and despite how unassuming he looks, there’s something just below the surface that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

“What kind of services?” he asks. 

You shrug. “I don’t know, I didn’t ask,” you say. “It’s not my place to question things.”

“Did you question things when you worked for my brother?” Jeremiah asks. “Is that where you got your scar?”

_ He thinks Jerome was the mastermind behind everything...typical,  _ you think bitterly. 

And while you would love to correct him, you’re not exactly in a position to do so. You know absolutely nothing about this Valeska, and playing the naive girl-with-a-crush is the safest way to go. 

“No, this was from Gordon,” you say, motioning to the slice across your face. “It could have been a lot worse if Jerome hadn’t pushed me out of the way. I would never question him. He was my everything.” Tears start to fall and you make a show of wiping them away. “And every day without him is like a knife in the gut.”

“My brother was a master manipulator,” Jeremiah says. “He didn’t care about anyone or anything. I’m sorry you got dragged into his madness.”

“He cared about me.”

“I'm sure he made you believe so.”

Seething with rage, you keep your face a mask of sadness, trying to appear as if you’re pulling yourself together. “Doesn’t matter now,” you say. “My boss would like a meeting. If I don’t deliver, he’ll kill me.”

Jeremiah sighs and briefly adjusts his glasses. “This way. We’ll talk in my office,” he says, motioning down the hall. 

You follow him in silence, refusing to take your eyes off the back of his head. The walls surrounding you are made of smooth stone and after several twists and turns, you completely lose your sense of direction. Jeremiah seems to know exactly where he's going and before you know it he's ushering you through a hidden door.

Numerous monitors line one wall, giving you a full view of the property and the labyrinth itself. In the middle of the room, a large work table sits littered with sketches and blueprints, all bearing the signature of Xander Wilde. 

“Drink?” Jeremiah offers, pouring one from the bar just a foot away. 

“No thank you,” you decline, even though you'd kill for one. 

As if you would accept a random drink from a hermit who trapped you in a cell in the middle of the woods. 

There is something about Jeremiah that is putting you on edge and you would give anything to be far away from that room. If you weren't on a time crunch you'd consider it. But you need his cooperation to bring Jerome back, so you will play along. 

Jeremiah takes a shot, slamming the glass down before turning back to face you. “You say you don’t know what your boss wants with me?” he questions. 

“Nope,” you say, which is technically true. “I was supposed to find your address and send it to him. The only reason I checked it out first was to make sure it wasn’t a dead end.”

Jeremiah hasn’t taken his eyes off you, and despite your discomfort, you can’t help the flood of desire was you stare back. 

It's been so long since you've seen Jerome, longer since you've touched him. Just seeing Jeremiah standing there has your libido going crazy. 

In fact, you find yourself wondering if he was physically like Jerome in  _ every  _ way. While Jerome responded to your aggressive, sexual side, something tells you that won’t work with Jeremiah.

He notices your stare and crosses his arms. “I'm not going to sleep with you.”

_ Perceptive one, isn't he? _

“I didn't know that was an option.”

“It's not,” Jeremiah insists. “But you're looking at me the way you looked at  _ him  _ and it's not going to happen.”

Oh. A challenge. You  _ looove  _ challenges. But that's not what this is about and as much as you want to prove him wrong, it's not what you need. You need Jerome, the real Jerome. Not this visual imitation. 

Instead, you make yourself look nervous, wringing your hands as you subtly bat your eyelashes at him. “Are you going to let me go?” you ask in a small voice. 

“I’m not like my brother, Queenie,” he says, crossing to his desk. “I don’t take people hostage.” You watch him scribble something on a piece of paper, before he comes back around toward you. “Here is the number to my proxy. Your boss can reach me this way.”

You take the paper, but before you can pull away, Jeremiah grabs your hand. “I trust you will keep my location to yourself,” he says. “All I want is to be left alone.”

“Don't we all.”

“I mean it,” Jeremiah says. “I want nothing to do with you or the life you had with my brother. Is that clear? You leave here and I want you to forget I exist. I never want to see you again.”

It’s in that moment, that you realize what’s bothering you: he’s lying.

You’re not sure about what, or why, but you can spot a liar when you see one and Jeremiah definitely is keeping something. As anxious as you are to leave, you can’t help feeling intrigued. 

You study him closer, trying to figure out a way to crack his cool exterior. 

Jeremiah looks back, blank-faced. “What?”

“I’m sorry for staring,” you say softly. “It’s just...I haven’t seen him in so long.” You chance a step forward, closing some of the distance between you. 

Jeremiah doesn’t move, allowing you into his personal space. He swallows thickly. “I can see why my brother was drawn to you,” he says. 

Cocking your head to the side, you give him a curious look. “What do you mean?”

Jeremiah lets go of your hand, reaching up to place a slender finger under your chin, lifting your face up toward his. “You’re a very good liar,” he says. “I almost believe the things you say.”

Dropping the act, you allow yourself a sly smile. “Takes one to know one.”

Jeremiah’s mouth twitches slightly into a ghost of a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Heat pools low in your belly and a wave of desire washes over you. Attraction hits you like a freight train and you reconsider the whole not seducing him thing. 

The silence is broken when your phone starts to buzz. 

“That would be my boss,” you say. “I should get him his answer before all hell breaks loose. How do I get out of this place?”

Jeremiah leads you through the labyrinth to the exit. 

By now night has fallen and you pull your hood up as the chilly air hits your face. “Good luck, Queenie,” he says. “With whatever it is that you’re planning.”

“I’m not planning anything, Jeremiah,” you say in a sweet voice, backing out of the exit as you keep your eyes trained on him. “I’m just following orders, remember?”

Jeremiah shoves his hands into his pockets, eyes glittering in the light of the neon purple Exit sign. “Of course you are,” he says. 

The walk back to civilization is dark but quick. Once you're far enough away from Jeremiah's hideaway, you call Oswald. 

“Where have you  _ been?” _ he demands. 

“Getting you what you asked for,” you respond. “Xander Wilde will listen to what you have to say. I have his number.”

“Well, glad to know death hasn't taken away your tenacity,” Ozzy says. “You can pick up the truck in an hour. Text me the number.”

It’s like you suddenly can't move quick enough. Once you do what he said, you send a text to Dwight:  _ Showtime. _

By the time you get the truck and show up at the lab, you are twitchy and giddy. Jeremiah is forgotten as you head inside the building.

Dwight is ordering your children around while two of them carefully handle Jerome's tank. 

“Are you alright, my queen?” Dwight asks. “You're very quiet.”

“I'm thinking, Dwight,” you say. “You should try it sometime.”

Jeremiah's appearance has thrown you but you force yourself to forget about him. Nothing has changed. You're still bringing Jerome back and you're still going to make Gordon pay for killing you.

Once Jerome and everything else is loaded into the truck, you turn to Dwight. “Let the children know tonight's the night. We will see Jerome again.”

Dwight grins and watches you climb into the truck. “And it will be glorious!”

“Yes,” you grin. “Yes it will.” 

Dwight makes a few quick phone calls before he joins you, getting behind the wheel. “Ready?”

“Fuck yes.”

Dwight practically speeds to the power plant. The entire drive he babbles about glory and resurrection, but you block him out. You're going to be reunited with Jerome. After all this time it's finally happening and you're twitchy with nervous energy.  

You pull up to the plant and get out, thrilled to see your workers already there. 

Security is a breeze, having planted your own people there the minute you learned you needed the location. As you watch Dwight and the others work, Jerome's voice echoes through your mind. 

_ You're such a good girl, Queenie. Always so good to me. _

“Soon, puddin’,” you grin. “Soon.”

“Queenie?” Dwight asks softly as he approaches. “It's time. We need to take him out of the tank and attach him to the machine.”

There is a limited window between taking him off ice before he starts to decompose. You'll have to work fast. 

You walk up to the tank, placing your hand on the cold metal as you stare at Jerome's frozen face. 

“Do it.”

Everything happens fast after that. Carefully Dwight opens the cryo tube, and the both of you work to place Jerome on the table. While Dwight hooks him up to the machine, you stroke J's hair lovingly. 

“Come back to me, you hear me?” you demand. “If you don't, I swear I'll smack your corpse around.”

“We're ready,” Dwight says.

Excited, you pull away from Jerome's body, arms outstretched toward your workers. “My children,” you exclaim. “Tonight, our king returns! And it will be  _ glorious!” _

There's a round of applause and cheering as you look at Dwight, your eyes alight with madness. “ _ Now!” _

Grinning, Dwight flips the switch. His machine roars to life, hissing and grinding as it starts to work. Electricity flows into Jerome's body and you watch with clenched teeth, waiting for signs of life.

“More power!” you order.

“My queen, if we're not careful--”

Your hand reaches out to wrap around Dwight's neck and you shout, “More power!”

He pales and nods, turning up the dials when you let him go. 

It doesn't seem to be working. Jerome remains motionless.

“Come on, you bastard,” you growl. “Wake up…”

As you make for the table, Dwight tries to stop you. You shake him off and jump up on the table with Jerome. Instantly, you feel the volts enter your body the second you seize Jerome's face. The pain is nigh unbearable, but you endure it as you will Jerome back to life.

The jolt course from your body to his limp one, and you eventually give in, screaming as your body curls forward on its own.

And then, it's gone and you fall limply onto Jerome's chest. You taste metal, realizing a split second later that you bit your tongue. Dwight is calling your name but your focus is solely on Jerome.

“Wake up,” you whisper.

Your palm slides down cheek and neck, coming to rest on his chest. 

And then you feel it.

The thump of his heart.

Before you can react, Dwight is pulling you off the table. You fight as much as you can, but you're weak. “His heart! I felt his heart!”

“Queenie, are you alright?” Dwight asks, trying to hold you close. You're having none of it. 

“Check him,” you demand, pushing Dwight away.

Not able to deny you, he carefully lets you go and gets to his feet. You watch him check Jerome for a pulse. When he gives you a grim look, you grow angry. 

“DO IT AGAIN!” you order. “He had a heartbeat! I  _ know  _ he did!”

Suddenly, one of the security guards comes rushing in. “The GCPD are on their way!” he exclaims. “We need to get her to safety.”

“No,” you snap. “Not without Jerome!”

You've come so close. You can't give up now. Dwight helps you up as your security guards come to assist. 

“Get her out of here, they can't find her,” he tells them, completely ignoring you 

You can barely stand on your own but you still manage to grab Dwight's shirt and pull him close. “You promised me my puddin’ and if you don't deliver I will cut your face off and  _ serve it to you!” _

“I will save him,” Dwight assures you. “You will have your king just as you deserve!”

Every instinct is telling you to stay but your weak and the police could be there any moment. So you allow the guards to escort you as Dwight and the workers hurry to pack up.

Just as you make it to the parking lot, police cruisers come screaming around the corner. They halt to a stop and the guards practically shove you into the car. 

“Drive, my queen,” they order. “We'll hold them off.”

You watch them run toward the police, guns drawn and firing wildly. Quickly you start the car, barely able to function. Right now pure adrenaline fuels you and you slam on the gas.

As you drive past the shoot out, you see Detective Gordon. There's a split second where your eyes meet, and you can see the recognition. 

But then his focus is drawn to the hail of bullets and you make your escape. 

 


End file.
